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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232294">Make Redder His Roses</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vice_versa/pseuds/vice_versa'>vice_versa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Make Redder His Roses [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Sails</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Knifeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex Work, Spanking, Strapping, cutting off clothes, mild bloodplay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:43:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vice_versa/pseuds/vice_versa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <cite>Usually Silver likes to be looked at; he’d be the first to admit that he’s a show-off, he wants to be admired, to be the centre of attention. You can control people, play them, when you’re the one talking and performing and they’re the ones looking on. But the way Vane is looking at him makes Silver feel as though his clothes have already been stripped off and he’s naked in the middle of the room. He doesn’t think he will be able to control Vane, or play him.</cite>
</p><p>John Silver is working in Noonan's brothel, for lack of other opportunities. One night, Charles Vane hires him, for reasons that turn out to be... complicated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Background Charles Vane/Eleanor Guthrie, Background John Silver/Eleanor Guthrie, John Silver/Charles Vane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Make Redder His Roses [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Make Redder His Roses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’m very late to Black Sails, but am making up in enthusiasm for what I lack in timeliness. I’ve gone straight in with a rarepair, because early-season Silver would make <strong>such</strong> a good sub, and Vane needs saving from a life of compulsory heterosexuality.</p><p>This is my first ever fic so please be gentle! Please note though that the fic itself is <strong>not</strong> gentle, please be aware of the tags. It is questionably sane, arguably non-consensual and not at all safe; it isn’t meant to be a realistic depiction of a BDSM relationship or of sex work, and please do not use it as your inspiration for knifeplay.</p><p>It diverges from canon in a minor way pretty much immediately in order to bring the characters together, but to be honest if you are wanting plot, this is not the place to be looking for it in any case. It is pure filth from start to finish.</p><p>The title comes from Algernon Charles Swinburne’s “Dolores”, which you can read <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45283/dolores-notre-dame-des-sept-douleurs">here</a>.</p><hr/>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Captain Vane fancies something different tonight.”</p><p>Mrs Mapleton has sidled up behind him, breathing uncomfortably close to his ear. He doesn’t need to like or trust someone to work with them, but he could do without the way she is leering at him right now, visibly totting up his value in her head. “Your services are required, Silvertongue.”</p><p>He’s been at the brothel for a couple of weeks now, having persuaded Flint that he was harmless enough to be set free, but not that he was useful enough to be a member of the crew. A man has to find work somewhere, and there are worse things than being fucked occasionally in exchange for money and food and a roof over his head. Perhaps he even prefers it this way; there is less risk of bodily harm in a brothel than on a pirate ship.</p><p>The risk isn’t zero, though.</p><p>He hasn’t had many customers over the past fortnight; the men who are that way inclined can easily find bedfellows among their shipmates, and there aren’t many women in Nassau outside the brothel. But there are always a few people who will pay good coin for a boy with a pretty face and a skilled tongue. His tongue is skilled in more ways than one; it’s how he got his nickname among the girls. Eleanor Guthrie has visited him a few times, usually after she’s argued with Vane, and promised herself – maybe she even believes it – that she won’t go there again. She likes to tie Silver up and ride him, fucking out her anger and frustration on his cock. Once or twice she’s called him Charles as she comes. Silver doesn’t mind; it’s not the first time he’s had an alternative identity.</p><p>Sometimes he thinks about them fucking, Eleanor and Vane. Does she tie <em>him </em>up? It’s difficult to imagine him permitting someone to do such a thing, but if he allowed anyone, it would be Eleanor. Or does he twist her arms behind her back, bend her over the table, pull her dress up… Silver finds himself lingering over these scenarios ever more frequently, in idle moments on hot afternoons, when he’s fucking other clients, in his bed at night. Vane on his back, cuffed to the bed, his biceps flexing as he pulls against the restraints, while Eleanor kisses him or slaps him or teases his cock. Or Vane pinning her down, throwing her skirts over her head, gripping her hips and filling her with his cock. Before long, Silver is sliding himself into the fantasy, imagining himself in the room, on the bed, that <em>he </em>is the one fucking or – more often – being fucked.</p><p>But he isn’t Vane in this fantasy.</p><p>He’s Eleanor.</p><p>* * *</p><p>He hadn’t ever really imagined it would happen for real, and the prospect of it is, it turns out, far more terrifying than the fantasy.</p><p>Mrs Mapleton gestures to where Vane is sitting, on his own in a shadowy corner, as usual, bottle of rum in front of him on the table. Silver realises that Vane is looking at him steadily, his grey eyes enigmatic, his gaze penetrating. Usually Silver likes to be looked at; he’d be the first to admit that he’s a show-off, he wants to be admired, to be the centre of attention. You can control people, play them, when you’re the one talking and performing and they’re the ones looking on. But the way Vane is looking at him makes Silver feel as though his clothes have already been stripped off and he’s naked in the middle of the room. He doesn’t think he will be able to control Vane, or play him.</p><p>He falls over a chair on the way across the room because he’s too busy watching Vane and mildly panicking. Someone’s rum gets spilled and an angry sailor stands up, ready to punch Silver in the face, but Vane half rises to his feet, signals to Mrs Mapleton to get the man another drink, and the fellow sits down again, mollified. Then Silver is standing in front of Vane and for once he doesn’t know what to do. Is he supposed to sit on Vane’s knee and cuddle up to him like the girls do, pressing their bare breasts against his chest and nuzzling his ear? What a fool he would feel. At the same time his treacherous brain presents him with a mental image of himself, helpless and coquettish in Vane’s lap, and he feels his cock hardening.</p><p>Vane’s gaze drops, and he raises an eyebrow. “Good to see you’re ready,” he drawls, and Silver, normally master of the guileless poker face, feels the flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. Then Vane is standing, moving close enough that it feels like a threat, or a flirtation, and Silver still isn’t quite sure which it is, and he thinks wildly that right at this moment he doesn’t care, just as long as Vane doesn’t move away. Vane has a good few inches on him and he has to tilt his head back to look him in the eye. He’s standing close enough that Silver can feel the heat coming off him and can smell his tang of rum and salt and sweat, which is somehow indefinably and intoxicatingly different from the rum and salt and sweat smell of everyone else in the room. Silver is aware that when he looks up at a client like this, he’s usually already kneeling between their legs, and the desire to suck Vane’s cock is suddenly so strong that he finds himself buckling at the knees slightly.</p><p>“What are you waiting for, boy?” Vane growls. “Want me to carry you over the threshold?”</p><p>He could easily do it, and Silver opens his mouth to say <em>yes </em>before he realises that Vane is being sarcastic and that responding would be a terrible mistake. He is so high on desire and terror that for a moment he can’t work out what he needs to do with his body in order to make it move from the ground floor of the brothel up to the bedrooms, but the problem is solved for him when Vane seizes his hair and makes a fist in his curls, dragging him towards the stairs almost casually, as if relocating a dog that persists in misbehaving. He stumbles up the steps, aware that the noise level in the room has abated somewhat and a few sailors have dragged their attention away from rum and bare tits for long enough to watch his undignified ascent. There are a few whistles and catcalls; one or two of the girls blow him kisses, as if for luck.</p><p>* * *</p><p>“Let’s see if you live up to that nickname of yours.”</p><p>Silver is on his knees with alacrity and undoing Vane’s belt and buttons; fortunately, his body seems to be more-or-less obeying him again. Vane is leaning on the wall, looking down on him with those hooded eyes that give away so little. His cock is long and thick, and as unfairly beautiful as the rest of him. Silver wants to take a moment to admire it, but Vane fists a hand in his hair again and guides his lips onto his cock. He thrusts, hard, into Silver’s mouth and, despite the time and effort that Silver has put into dulling his gag reflex, he chokes and drools a little; Vane is larger than most. Silver thinks of blow jobs as artistry and prides himself on his intricate tongue work, but he’d be a terrible whore if he couldn’t take it deep as well. He looks up at Vane through watering eyes and meets his gaze; one side of Vane’s mouth lifts in a half smile. Silver’s own cock throbs and he wants desperately to touch himself, but Vane is the client, and one he has more than pecuniary reasons to avoid offending.</p><p>Instead, he uses his hands on Vane as Vane fucks his face, cupping his balls and stroking the sensitive area just behind. He daren’t put his finger up Vane’s ass, not without asking first, and it’s too late for that now, with his mouth full of cock. He fears there might be reprisals, and he wants to keep all his fingers, preferably in an unbroken state. He takes Vane as deep as he can, concentrating on not gagging, and after a while Vane’s hand releases his hair and he relaxes against the wall, letting Silver take control of the pace. He breathes in Vane’s animal scent, sweat and leather and a tantalising hint of cum, and wonders who Vane was with the last time he came. Eleanor? Or one of the other whores? Or was he alone in his bunk in the captain’s cabin aboard the <em>Ranger</em>, fucking his own hand? Silver wonders who and what Vane fantasises about while he’s seeing to himself. <em>Maybe it was me</em>, he thinks. <em>After all, he asked for me specially, there must have been a reason. </em>The thought makes his insides lurch, as if he has fallen from a high place, and he loses his rhythm just for a second, looking up at Vane’s face.</p><p>Vane’s hands are flattened against the wall, his head tipped back and his eyes closed. He looks oddly vulnerable, and Silver wonders for a minute whether he doesn’t get this from Eleanor. If he were Vane, he wouldn’t let Eleanor’s teeth within a foot of his cock, but Vane is notoriously lacking in self-preservation where Eleanor is concerned.</p><p>As if he can tell what Silver is thinking, Vane opens his eyes and looks down at him. “Enough,” he says.</p><p>It is very, very rare for someone to voluntarily put a stop to one of John Silver’s blow jobs. Occasionally men have pressed on to their climax even as bloodshed broke out around them. “But I – ” he starts, and stops again. “I mean, don’t you want to – ”</p><p>“Later,” is all Vane says, and Silver is both relieved and terrified that this – whatever <em>this </em>is – isn’t over yet.</p><p>* * *</p><p>Vane crosses to the window and pours himself a hefty measure of rum from the bottle on the table, knocking it back in one. He tucks his still-hard cock away, and Silver’s pang of disappointment is overridden almost immediately by a queasy feeling of mingled anticipation and apprehension: whatever is going to happen, it clearly isn’t going to be a straight-up fuck. He’s still kneeling on the floor, not having been told to move, and now Vane is crossing the room towards him again in a couple of brisk strides, dragging him to his feet by his shirt front, lifting him and shoving him up against the wall. His feet are dangling a couple of inches from the ground, bringing his groin level with Vane’s; the heat and hardness of Vane’s cock are palpable even through his leather breeches. His own shirt has pulled free from his trousers with Vane’s manhandling and he can feel Vane’s rough jerkin against his skin; in his current state of desperate arousal, it feels almost as sensual as the friction of Vane’s cock nudging against his. A small moan escapes him – he can’t help himself – and he can sense Vane’s eyes on him; Vane has surely had enough whores to be able to tell when pleasure is feigned and when it is real, and he feels a blush mounting to his cheeks again at how easily and obviously this man has undone him.</p><p>Vane brings his face in close to Silver’s, and Silver automatically turns to meet Vane’s lips with his own; but it appears Vane has no intention of kissing him.</p><p>“I hear you’ve been fucking Eleanor,” he rasps in Silver’s ear.</p><p>Is this what this is about? Silver had temporarily forgotten that Eleanor – or anything else outside this room – even existed, and he feels briefly aggrieved at this abrupt intrusion of external reality, before realising he has more to worry about right now: he’s alone with a man who is notoriously unpredictable, who is much stronger than him, and who has every reason to be extremely angry with him. The equally true facts that Vane is knee-quiveringly beautiful, that he has formed the primary subject of Silver’s most private fantasies over the past few weeks, and that for obscure reasons of his own he has just allowed Silver to suck his cock, only serve to break Silver’s brain completely. For once he is unable to think of the right words, or any words at all; he simply stares, tongue-tied, into Vane’s eyes.</p><p>“Don’t get me wrong,” Vane continues, “I don’t give a shit who else she fucks. But people get funny ideas; they think less of a man if they hear the woman he’s fucking has been at it with other people too. And you’ll understand, I can’t afford for that to happen. But all those people down there, they’ll hear you squeal and they’ll see you stagger out of here afterwards, and they’ll remember: that man crossed Charles Vane, and he got punished for his trouble. Don’t worry, it’s not personal.”</p><p>Silver wishes it was personal. He has come to realise over the past weeks that the thoughts he has about Vane, the things he wants to do to Vane and have Vane do to him, are very personal indeed.</p><p>“So,” says Vane. “Tell me what you liked most about it.”</p><p>He needs to think of something innocuous and unprovocative. Perhaps he could say she has nice eyes or good hair or something? No, Vane will never believe that. For once his vivid imagination is working against him, a series of scenes of all the filthiest things that Eleanor did to him, plus one or two that she didn’t, unfurling through his mind. If he were to be completely honest with Vane – which he has no intention of being; he’s not sure he has ever been completely honest in his life, and now doesn’t seem like the time to start – he would say: the times Eleanor sat on his face. The feeling of complete helplessness, pinned down under her ass, coupled with the strange power that came from knowing she had opened herself completely to him, positioning her most vulnerable parts right on his mouth. Grinding herself into him as he worked his magic with his silver tongue, until she gasped and tensed and came all over his face.</p><p>He can’t say this to Vane. Vane might cut his tongue out, and he will lose all his best means of gaining his livelihood at a stroke. But Vane is waiting, and he has to say something.</p><p>“She called me by your name,” he says, without thinking it through.</p><p>Something passes across Vane’s face, and for all his skill in reading people, Silver can’t tell what it is: anger, or jealousy, or pride, or tenderness, or a combination of all the above; or something else entirely? As if absent-mindedly, he touches Silver’s face, and – is it his imagination? – it seems to Silver that his fingers linger for a moment.</p><p>But as quickly as it has come, the moment passes, and Vane seizes him by his shoulders, throwing him face down, half-on and half-off the bed, his knees on the hard wooden floor, his nose crushed into the mattress. His head has barely stopped reeling from the unexpected change of position when he realises that Vane is cinching his wrists with ruthless efficiency, finishing them off with a reef knot and attaching the ends to the bed frame, stretching his body out just a little too much for comfort. He gives an investigative pull against the ropes and discovers there is no hope of slipping his hands out, even if he wanted to: Vane knows his way around ropes, and his captives are not generally given an opportunity to escape.</p><p>He can hear Vane breathing heavily behind him, and then a faint, slithery noise that sounds alarmingly like a knife being pulled from a sheath. He tugs against the cords in earnest this time, even though he knows there is no point, and squirms frantically, but only succeeds in rucking his shirt up further. He hears Vane exhale sharply, almost a sigh, and then there is a sensation of pressure on his inside leg, just above his knee. The pressure increases until there is a sudden tearing sound and a sharp pain, and he realises Vane is cutting through his trousers. He moves the blade up the seam slowly, severing one stitch at a time, pressing just hard enough that Silver can feel the bright line of pain traced on his skin, but not hard enough to do any real damage. Nonetheless as the blade moves higher, he begins to panic: Vane knows his way around knives and human bodies well enough that he probably – <em>probably </em>– won’t catch the femoral artery accidentally, but what might he do on purpose? Silver doesn’t think he’s planning to kill him; if he were going to do that he’d have done it elsewhere, and much more quickly and efficiently. But he wouldn’t put it past Vane to castrate him, thus making absolutely sure of his future uselessness as Eleanor’s fuck-toy.</p><p>Vane’s knife has reached his upper thigh now and Silver has stopped breathing. As its inexorable upward motion continues he desperately wants to flinch away but holds himself rigid, fearing that any sudden movement might be counter-productive and the knife would catch his balls or his cock, which is wilting somewhat in sheer terror. Time seems to pull out taut as the knife proceeds infinitely slowly past the crease where his leg joins his ass, and pauses for a long moment over his asshole before moving back to start on the other leg.</p><p>When the knife is halfway up his thigh, Silver can no longer take the tension and shudders uncontrollably, cutting himself shallowly on the blade. Vane places a hand on his back, steadying him, almost soothing, but doesn’t pause in his systematic destruction of Silver’s clothing. The shivery, tantalising pain of the knife-point moves on upward, along his thigh and across his ass, and before long Silver feels the tug and release of the knife shearing through the last stitch, joining up the two rents in his trousers. He can feel the air on his ass now, and then Vane’s thumb, stroking across his exposed asshole. He’s unable to prevent himself from moaning, and, as if to remind him that this isn’t supposed to be about his pleasure, the thumb disappears and is replaced again by the knife-point, circling around his sphincter, barely touching him but making him terribly aware of how vulnerable he is. As if to underline the message, Vane traces the point of the knife along his cock, so agonisingly slowly that Silver begins to quiver in anticipation of where it will touch him next. Perversely, his cock starts to stiffen again.</p><p>He’s sure Vane must be aware of his arousal, but he doesn’t do anything about it, moving his hand away as Silver strains vainly towards his touch. Then the knife is slashing through the waistband of his trousers, in two rapid strokes down each side, in stark contrast to the painstaking unpicking of his seams. Vane rips the material away and Silver thinks: these trousers are ruined now, and they were quite expensive. Quickly followed by: fuck, his ass is on show to <em>Charles Vane </em>of all people, and he doesn’t know where this is going. He hopes nobody opens the door and sees him like this; though, to his shame, his cock stirs at the idea of Vane showing him off, half-naked, like a trophy.</p><p>Vane walks round the bed and surveys his flushed, damp face and wide eyes. He can see Vane is still hard from the outline of his cock in his leather trousers. So this isn’t just about revenge – unless Vane is turned on by revenge, which seems a perfectly plausible possibility. When someone wants to fuck you it gives you an advantage, if you know how to use it; Silver knew all about sex and power and leverage even before it was his job. Perhaps he can somehow make use of Vane’s desire for him.</p><p>He’s aware that the situation is complicated by the hardness of his own cock, now standing up stiffly and unignorably again despite – or perhaps because of – his humiliating position. Overall, he has to concede, the advantage seems to lie with Vane.</p><p>“Ready for your punishment?” Vane says. It’s not really a question.</p><p>“Why don’t you punish <em>her</em>?” Silver is startled by his own boldness.</p><p>For an instant Vane’s face is unguarded, and Silver reads something complicated and personal in his eyes. He realises he will never fully understand the nature of Vane’s relationship with Eleanor, if they even understand it themselves; the closest he can get, if he had to put words to it, is that they are constantly punishing one another, in ways that make anything Vane might do to him here seem straightforward and honest by comparison. Then a moment later, Vane’s guard is back up and his face is impassive again. “Why would I want to punish her, when I could punish you?” he says, circling back round behind Silver.</p><p>He has no idea whether this is intended as a compliment or the opposite, or indeed whether it even means anything; perhaps Vane has just said something at random to cover an awkward moment. But he feels a warmth suffuse his entire body at the idea that this is something for which Vane wants <em>him</em>, prefers <em>him </em>to Eleanor. Vane wants him, John Silver, face-down with his ass bare, tied to this dirty bed in this shabby brothel room. His cock throbs and, fuck, he wishes he could touch himself. He writhes shamelessly, trying to rub himself on the bed frame, and then with no warning Vane’s belt cracks down across his ass and his whole body jerks with the shock and the pain and the pleasure.</p><p>Silver is determined that he won’t cry out; he tells himself that he doesn’t want to give Vane the satisfaction, although at the same time he knows, somewhere deep inside himself, that this is in fact exactly what he wants. He is also horribly aware that the walls of the brothel are paper-thin, and the doors might as well be curtains for all the privacy they provide. Noonan claims this is a design feature: a man who can hear other people fucking is far more likely to part with his coin for the same privilege. Silver has got used to falling asleep to a background of men grunting and the over-enthusiastic squeals of whores, but he shudders at the idea of the assembled company hearing his own yelps and moans; it’s bad enough that the cracks of Vane’s belt on his bare ass are clearly audible to anyone who cares to listen.</p><p>But the strokes keep coming, and soon they’re falling on skin that is already sore and reddened and starting to come up in welts. He’s unable to hold in a gasp each time the belt hits his ass; he’s tensing up and it hurts worse. “Please, please,” he hears himself saying, and he honestly doesn’t know whether he’s begging Vane to stop or begging him to carry on. Not that it makes a great deal of difference, as Vane clearly has no intention of stopping. His arm keeps rising and falling, and Silver gives up any pretence of stoicism and whimpers and moans and wriggles and drools. He’s still hard and his cock is aching to be touched. His whole body is a turmoil of conflicting sensations and his mouth keeps making noises despite himself, shameful little mewls and whines and sobs, but he’s so far beyond embarrassment now that he doesn’t care.</p><p>Then as suddenly as it started, the beating stops, and Vane is lifting him fully onto the bed with an arm around his waist. Silver is shaking in every limb and he’s barely aware of Vane pulling down his own trousers. But he certainly notices when Vane presses against him, because it re-awakens the stinging pain in his ass, and he inadvertently flinches away with a little noise of protest. Vane pulls him back immediately, not violently or cruelly but firmly enough to let Silver know that he’s definitely still in control, and holds him against him, his hair brushing against Silver’s back, until the pain dies down a bit to a smarting throb.</p><p>If anyone had asked him before, back in the time when he was still capable of rational thought, he'd have guessed Vane would go in cold, brutally, like a knife under the ribs. But that is definitely Vane's oiled finger pressing into him now, seeking out the sensitive spot in his ass. He obviously knows how to give a man pleasure, and for some reason – still obscure to Silver – he is bothering to do it. His finger circles, teasing, encouraging, cajoling, and Silver feels the warmth growing inside. The entire world has shrunk to the sensation of Vane's finger in his ass, pressing insistently, or else the feeling has expanded to become the entire world. He gasps into the stale, stained sheet, and pushes his ass back against Vane. He's forgotten that he's meant to be servicing a customer; he's just desperate for Vane's cock, desperate to be fucked, and he no longer cares who knows it. “Please,” he moans, and this time it's quite clear what he's asking for, “oh God, oh God, please fuck me.” (He doesn't believe in God, or didn't before today.)</p><p>Vane's finger slips out, and a moment later Vane's cock is pressing into him. It's almost too much; the feeling of fullness is so intense that he has the curious sense that his eyes are bulging. His limbs are trembling uncontrollably and he moans again into the mattress. Vane grabs a handhold in his hair and yanks his head up, pulling him back onto his cock. And now it <em>is</em> brutal: Vane is fucking him hard and fast, with no thought for sparing his poor abused ass. He wants it to stop and he never wants it to end, and he just wants to keep breathing through the next minute, and he –</p><p>– he'd actually forgotten for a moment there how much he wanted to come, but Vane's hand is reaching around and encircling his still-hard cock, and suddenly it's all he can think about again. He presses into Vane's fist eagerly, desperately, and Vane matches the rhythm of his hand to his thrusts into Silver’s ass, and Silver can feel his impending orgasm welling up inexorably inside him, and he pushes himself back against Vane’s cock, and then he could no longer hold back even if he wanted to and his cum is spattering across his shirt, the bed and his own face. His body goes floppy and helpless and he’s vaguely aware through the surge of his blood in his ears that Vane is holding him up, fucking his limp body like a doll, and then Vane groans and spills his cum into Silver’s ass.</p><p>* * *</p><p>A little time passes before Silver is once again fully aware of himself and his surroundings. Vane’s cum is trickling down his thighs and he’s lying in a damp patch on the sheet. He guesses that this is it: whether this was revenge, or experimentation, or simply Vane scratching an itch, it is over.</p><p>He pulls himself upright and perches uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, catching his breath; it hurts to sit, and likely will for the next few days at least. His insides shudder at the idea of leaving this room, and taking the walk of shame down the stairs and across the brothel floor. It's quieter down there now – many have repaired to the upstairs rooms for a fuck, and others have left or simply passed out – but there are enough left down there drinking, and doubtless they've all heard his punishment, his begging and squeals and sobs. He no longer even has a full set of clothes to leave the room in.</p><p>Then a hand is pulling him back down to lie on the bed, and Vane casually, possessively almost, throws a leg over his. What is happening? Does Vane have something else in store for him? Surely this can't be a reprieve; after all, the whole point of this was to neutralise any possible threat to Vane's reputation in the eyes of the world. Wasn't it?</p><p>“But – ” he starts. “I thought you said… I thought I had to…” His silver tongue has turned to lead, heavy in his mouth.</p><p>“Shut up,” Vane orders, clapping a hand over his mouth, not ungently.</p><p>He lies there, feeling the heat of Vane's body behind him, the weight of Vane's leg on his, and Vane's softening cock nestling against the welts on his ass. Within minutes Vane is asleep, breathing heavily and peacefully, his hair spread out on the pillow, his hand still resting on Silver's face.</p>
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